


inconvenient

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Fruits Basket
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:16:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1245616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: <i>work</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	inconvenient

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's weird having someone from outside the family cooking for you. Maybe it's a Sohma thing –and he knows it is– but Kazuma is used to doing things alone, or in any case with the usual presence of Tomoda. So the disarray of the clay pots, the sounds from the kitchen that make him stop in his steps because he never remembers there's someone new here, the windows he doesn't remember opening because he didn't, all this wrong-foots him, and he only has time to compose himself a bit and put on a lopsided smile under the young girl's scrutiny, those big eyes that are easier to read than Hanajima believes. She's been here months and he still can't seem to get used to finding her whenever he turns a corner.

Today he oversleeps and in the daze of that first moments he doesn't remember, _really doesn't remember_ , she is in the house; he stumbles into the dojo floor before he finishes dressing properly, his yukata almost completely open while his fingers work at the belt.

`Good morning. I saved you some breakfast.´

`Uh, good morning.´ He barely avoids crashing into her. He tries again: `Good morning.´

She rushes to him, seeing the mess he is making putting on his clothes.

`Let me,´ she says, tugging at his yukata until in place, Kazuma surprised with her familiarity, and his own delight at the idea.

`You don't have to dress me, that's not the job of a cook.´

`My job is to help you however I can.´

Because Kazuma doesn't come up with a satisfying answer he lets her; Hanajima is a weird girl, she probably doesn't even stop to consider what is wrong with this picture, not that there is actually anything wrong but he feels himself tensing up a bit as she grabs the lapels, stepping into his personal space until they are so close Kazuma can smell the dampness in her hair from when she showered this morning. He is acutely aware of how much this house has changed, in subtle way like the scents and the light, since the girl came.

Happy with how the clothes look now Hanajima knots the sash; her employer has to make somewhat of an effort not to stare as she does, at her hands, fascinated.

She runs her hands along the length of his clothes, to check they look good. Kazuma feels the pressure of her fingers on his chest and how they come up to where there's no fabric, fingertips grazing his skin. The gesture is not deliberate but how Hanajima leaves her hand there, over his heart, over naked skin, as if too curious to withdraw or too pleased with the feeling of it to give it up, _that_ she is doing on purpose.

There are some preconceptions Kazuma has about himself; he is cool and composed. He likes to identify with the word “aloof”. But he is also human, and this moment is good proof of it.

His body _reacts_ to her touch.

He chuckles –it's _absurd_ – and Hanajima searches his eyes, confused. It doesn't take her long to realize what is happening. He almost growls when her glance finds his erection, as if the mere fact of her _looking_ at it was enough to cause further discomfort.

There's no point in trying to hide it, and Kazuma doesn't have much patience for modesty, conventions. If he has learned something in these past years is that life is short, too short to waste any time with embarrassment.

`Ah,´ he gestures for Hanajima to stop what she is doing. `I had not considered the inconveniences of sharing quarters with a young girl.´

Her hand is still touching him. Hanajima studies his face with obvious curiosity, and at least she is not offended or grossed out. Kazuma can see the muscles of her jaw and neck slowly working; she swallows. A tiny hand slips inside his clothes, trembling against his chest, a fluttering bird trapped.

She flicks her fingers spread, slowly fan-like, over his stomach, then makes an attempts of lowering her hand. Kazuma quickly catches her wrist with two fingers before she makes it past his waist, wondering what on earth is she thinking. He pulls her away just so that she is not touching him, but only just so.

`Saki. That is definitely not part of your job,´ he tells her. There's some humour in his tone, and he wonders how much of that is self-preservation, and perhaps he was wrong, perhaps it does matter what happens to him from now until the end.

Hanajima looks up at him, defiant.

`I know,´ she says simply. `It's not.´

Her voice trembles a bit.

Kazuma worries; maybe she is just lonely. He knows how much she misses Tohru, how much she misses the intimacy of friendship that only happens when you are in high school. Out of her comfort zone, her life is changing a bit too fast for her taste, whether she lets herself admit it or not. She tries to hide it but he knows. Kazuma, too, has to put a brave face against the enormity of the changes his family has gone through in the past few months.

He lets go of her hand; the fingertips fall against his skin with a soft snapping noise.

Should he let this happen? Everyone could see them here, in the middle of the practice room, anyone could walk in, his assistant traumatized for life. But no, the question is _should he let this happen?_ and he cannot pretend events have not been leading to this. All summer there were signs. And the way the girl looks at him, even if it's just a crush, it's searing, painful in all its openness and hope. Does Kazuma have the right to want this? He fights to keep this question on the surface of his thoughts as Hanajima's touch insists on drowning it, now her other hand coming to rest on his hips, as if she felt dizzy and relied on him for balance. _Probably not_ he thinks before the question disappears. He is not supposed to want things for himself. He should be content with Kyo's happiness, it should suffice, that his son is blessed with love. To want more is just pure greed.

A young girl's body pressed against him and _he is_ greedy.

He closes his eyes and when he opens them –Hanajima's thumb brushes the tip of his cock– the world is changed.

`Is this... all right?´ Hanajima's usual flat tone makes her unreadable to most people but Kazuma can follow the subtle inflexion here, the uncertainty. She is inexperienced and Kazuma, unable to find the words of encouragement that she would understand, grabs her gently by the back of her neck and pulls her towards his chest, pressing a long kiss to her forehead. He fears that touching her will make her see how ugly he is, but he can't stop himself.

_Do I have the right?_ but the question becomes inconsequential as he concentrates on how he breathes into his collarbone, the strangeness of her rhythm, an almost-shy open palm exploring the length of him.

He tries to keep still, twisting one fist into Hanajima's dark hair; it's that particular silence just before the household starts setting things into motion.

It's the highest part of the morning now, they are standing in a pool of light, light always being immodest, and Kazuma watches the curve of the girl's wrist as her hand works up and down, peeking out and disappearing into his clothes, and for a moment he can't make the connection between that curve, its shape in the sunlight, and the touch of small fingers around his cock, clumsy but that will be enough, because he is old and that will be enough, because she is lovely and that will be enough, because he didn't expect to be given such a gift so late. The room smells clean and of varnish, Kazuma remembers he and Hanajima helping polish the wooden floor some days ago, restlessly (and happily) working shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow, until breathless.

He comes and Hanajima stiffens with the surprise of the wetness over her fingers, the edge in Kazuma's breathing, his groans. His hand untangles in her hair and drops to where neck meets shoulder, a silent gesture of _stay stay stay_ , he runs his fingers over knots of muscle. He is generous with his need of her. He doesn't like lies. He has no time for them.

He kisses her temple again, wondering if she knows this wasn't meant to end so quickly.

`That is another...´ he tries to apologize, unable to get his breath back as quick as he wants, whispering against Hanajima's cheek, the words come broken, ragged. `Another inconvenience... of... of... sharing – house... with... a pretty. Young. Girl.´

Hanajima smiles at the compliment. He grabs her hands and cleans it using the fabric of his yukata. What a mess; she had meant to help him dress, look proper in his attire.

It occurs to him they haven't even kissed yet. He is an old fool, of course, but at least that is one thing he can fix immediately.


End file.
